


Worn and Frayed

by secretlyryanross



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is..., Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - High School, Cheating, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, High School, I've not decided on that yet, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mormonism, Multi, Other, Possible Polyamory, Sex, Underage - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, ofc this is a high school AU what the fuck else do i ever write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:42:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8886025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretlyryanross/pseuds/secretlyryanross
Summary: A High School AU centered around eight people.-Ryan was just trying to get his mom and dad to stop fighting and figure his shit out. Brendon was questioning his religion. Gerard wasn't eating his meals and spending his days drawing and planning parties. Gabe just wanted to see William and go back to his old school. Josh wanted to be noticed. Pete lived a lifestyle of fucking shit up. Frank felt like life wasn't worth it and was battling with his own thoughts. Mikey needed therapy just to be able to get by. The one place you could nearly always find all of them? Velva Brooke High School.





	1. Brendon: Bathroom Passes and White Knuckles

Brendon could feel the sweat building in his muscles, his palms twitching in anxiousness. His glasses felt a heavy weight on his nose as he walked to the front of the room, peering out of them at the people he passes, discreetly. He could practically feel his nerves jumping through the roof. 

“May I have a bathroom pass?” He mutters, just in time for the teacher to look up from her desk. 

“Sure.” She hands him a slip of paper, giving him a smile, and...huh. That was easy. He smiles back at her, shyly, leaving the room in a flourish, just like that. 

Okay, so maybe Brendon was a little...overdramatic...at times.

It was a little obvious to Brendon that he had gotten all worked up for nothing, but it wasn’t  _ really  _ nothing! He was  _ skipping  _ class, to hang out with his friends! It was so cool, even he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. But, oh boy, if his nerves didn’t feel like they were being pricked at with a needle right now. What if his Gov. teacher knew? Brendon was a dirty, dirty liar…

And he kind of liked it. 

“Calm down, Brendon.” He murmurs to himself, his wits nearly being scared out of him as the Dean of Students walks by, Mr. Hoppus, but the adult just smiles and waves at him, trusting that Brendon knew where he was going. Now Brendon really did feel dirty, as he waved back with a very timid, nervous smile stretched across his face. 

“A-afternoon, Mr. Hoppus.” Brendon stutters, a heat rushing to his face. 

“Afternoon, Mr. Urie. How is your mother? Haven’t seen her at church recently.” He asks in passing, in which Brendon murmurs an ‘okay’ to, biting down on his lip and muttering something about her being sick. Then Mr. Hoppus is turned, around the corner, and Brendon continues to hurry to where he needs to be. 

This isn’t a sin...but, even if it was, Brendon didn’t care about that. Getting in trouble, however, wasn’t on Brendon’s to-do list today. His mom would frown at him, if she knew that he was skipping class to hang out with his _ ‘hooligan, sinner friends’, _ as she would say. But whatever, Jon and Spencer weren’t sinners...except maybe they were, but Brendon wasn’t really one to judge. You’re not supposed to judge people, except that his mother did it all the time, with no hesitation. 

_ Enough thinking about her and your religion, though, Brendon. _

He rounds a corner, fluorescent lights shining out of a room with two big windows. This was the spot he was told to meet them, though it didn’t really look...hidden. In fact, the large windows gave way to the view of  _ three _ , not two, but  _ three  _ teenagers sitting inside of a room, each facing each other, having an obvious conversation. Brendon glares, though he doesn’t mean to. 

He thought it was just going to be him, Spenc, and Jon. He was wrong to think so, it seems, as none other than  _ Dallon Weekes,  _ the school's very own student council president and vice-president, sits chatting amiably. Yeah, that’s right, he won out both positions. Unbelievable.

The door is heavy under Brendon’s fingers as he yanks it open, not making much of an entrance, seeing as only Spencer looks up from where he was talking to Jon and Dallon animatedly about the new gaming system he got for his birthday. Brendon had heard this conversation before. It was getting into the late days of September, Spencer’s birthday having landed on the 2nd day of the month. He had been invited, and in fact, he had went...it had been pretty cool. 

But right now was not the time to think about that.

“Hey, guys.” He knew that he was at least 10 minutes late, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask his teacher to leave. The bathroom slip was still between his index finger and thumb, pinched, and he could feel the pads of both fingers getting warm from how tightly he was clinging to it. 

Three sets of eyes settle onto his body, Spencer looking him directly in the eyes, though it was hard to tell, because he could very much be staring at Brendon’s dorky, red glasses. Jon was taking him in as a whole, studying Brendon’s jeans and youth camp t-shirt, as well as the small, silver cross necklace hanging limply from an equally as silver chain across the fading letters of ‘youth.’ that neared the collar of his shirt. Dallon, however, was looking straight through him with a smile that indicated the boy couldn’t care less about Brendon, sending unwanted anxiety rocketing through Brendon’s body. 

“You’re, like, 15 minutes late, B.” Spencer rolls his eyes, but pats a chair that is sitting next to him. At least they had planned for him to still come, the chair obviously only set out for him. Brendon eyes it, wondering if he was going to have to engage in conversation with  _ Dallon Weekes,  _ but he already knew that answer. And as he sat down, he realized that maybe, just maybe he should cut the boy some slack.

“Hey, I’m only ten!” Brendon protests once he’s situated, but Spencer looks disbelieving. “I couldn’t just...I couldn’t…” 

“You couldn’t muster up the courage to ask, believe us, B, we know.” Spencer buds in, like Brendon was used to, making Brendon’s anxieties known to the public. Brendon didn’t know if he exactly wanted  _ Dallon Weekes _ to know that. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just call him Dallon, but it almost felt improper next to the way Dallon Weekes presented himself. 

“I can’t let my mom find out about me skipping class, so…” Brendon swears he can see Dallon Weekes  _ roll his eyes _ , out of the corner of his own, but he doesn’t comment. Jon is smiling at him, a comforting feet, so he just decides to ignore it and engage in a different topic of conversation. 

Dallon beats him to it. 

“Did you hear about that one kid? Who apparently had sex with  _ Mr. Urine  _ in the boys bathroom upstairs. Nobody will touch the stall they say it happened in, but there  _ is  _ some new sharpie on the walls up there.” Dallon’s voice sounds calm as he talks, collected, and Brendon wonders if he’s just imagining the inflection in the boy's voice. It almost sounds like there shouldn’t be any there at all. 

“Yeah, yeah!” Jon sits up suddenly, looking like he’s thinking hard, “I can’t remember his name. Something...uh, something with an R?” 

“Mr. Urine?” Brendon asks quietly, never having heard of this teacher at all. Spencer looks at him as though he has two heads. 

“Yeah, the gross World History teacher?” Brendon can’t pinpoint why Spencer sounds like he’s questioning himself, but something doesn’t sit right.

“World History?” Brendon frowns, knowing both the teachers who teach that, but neither are named Mr. Urine. “Wait, do you mean Mr. McCartney? The one who smells like-”

“Piss.” Dallon cuts Brendon off, causing a frown to form on Brendon’s face. He doesn’t mention his dislike of that word, not in front of Dallon, but Spencer and Jon both know. 

Brendon clears his throat, “Y-yeah.” He looks down, cheeks flushed scarlet. 

“Oh!” Jon says suddenly, probably to break the tension quickly forming, “Ryan! Ryan Ross.” Brendon looks up with furrowed eyebrows, wondering what that kid has to do with anything. Wasn’t he one of those kids in the leather jackets who never attended class, but when he did was on weird...drugs. Or something, Brendon didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to keep up with someone with such a sinner lifestyle anyway. 

Upon the reaction he gets, Jon sighs, “The kid who fucked Mr. Urine in the boys’ bathroom.” Brendon flinches at the use of profanity, messing around with a hangnail to prevent himself from saying anything. He thought that Jon and Spencer  _ knew  _ he didn’t like those words. He couldn’t like those words…

“Doesn’t he hang ‘round the bleachers? With Gerard Way and his friends?” Spencer inquiries, and Brendon just now notices the way Spencer is leaned into Jon, their chairs almost touching in proximity. He decides to look away, knowing he’s just making things up. They’re good friends, good friends do that. 

A thought occurs to Brendon, “Isn’t that Mikey Way’s older brother?” Spencer, Jon, and Dallon turn to him with confused looks. Brendon doesn’t know why. 

“Yeah, how do you know him? He doesn’t talk to many people, I thought. Kind of a,” Dallon pauses, making sure to make eye contact with Brendon, “Recluse.” To Brendon, Dallon’s sentence didn’t really make too much sense. And why was he looking at him like that? Brendon shifts in his seat, the hand that isn’t still clutching the bathroom pass subconsciously moving up to fiddle with his necklace. 

“He seemed pretty friendly when I met him...at church camp…” Brendon doesn’t even take time to look at Dallon Weekes’ reaction, instead focusing on his laced up converse, looking at the small specks of dirt resting on the toe from this mornings walk into school. He’d have to clean them off, his mother would make him, though he didn’t mind the look of a little dirt on top. 

“Mikey Way, brother of Gerard Way...goes to church camp?” Jon asks, incredulous. Brendon can hear the ‘Mikey Way is a stuck up, church snob like you?’ in Jon’s voice, but doesn’t make it known that he can. It’s a layer of disgust Brendon can sometimes feel himself, at the way he was raised to believe things and the dislike of anything that wasn’t...Mormon. 

“Yeah, he was pretty cool. Really only went there because his mom made him, back in my Freshman year. We don’t really hang, but we have Algebra 2 together.” Brendon doesn’t mention that Mikey actually really enjoyed the church camp, instead says almost nothing about his feelings at all, just to save Mikey the embarrassment of being pegged a ‘church freak.’

“I can’t believe this, that’s golden!” Dallon finally sounds like he’s been knocked out of what Brendon calls ‘a confident stupor’, but it’s just as annoying to hear him excited. Brendon asks, for the love of all things holy, that the bell rings soon. He doesn’t mind spending this time with Jon and Spencer, but Dallon really ruins things. He thinks about how he hasn’t even asked how Dallon got invited, but he wouldn’t bring that up right now. 

Maybe he would at lunch. 

Spencer and Jon are laughing, now, at something else, but Brendon’s mind is brought back to Mr. McCartney and this Ryan Ross kid. Was it true? Such acts committed in the boys’ restroom...he wondered if Ryan Ross was even gay. Brendon couldn’t understand what was so wrong about it, other than...yeah, the fact that it was a teacher. But there wasn’t anything wrong with being gay, no matter what his mom and dad tell him. 

Brendon didn’t know if he could make himself believe that he is free of sin. What was so wrong about liking boys, though? You love who you love, he says. Lust, though, lust was sinful. He knew that the way he looked at boys, the way he had dreams...about them...that was a sin. 

_ ‘I just wish I could live my life without thinking about it like this for once…’ _

Spencer tunes him back into the conversation by asking a question, to which Brendon meekly laughs and answer as best as possible. 

  
The bell finally goes and Brendon realizes that he forgot his bag in Gov.


	2. Ryan: Cigarettes for Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is our first introduction of Ryan Ross and the way his mind works.

Ryan could feel the nicotine inside his lungs, sticking to the sides in puffs of smoke that he inhales, only to exhale. His cigarette habit wasn’t nearly as bad as his weed habit, but every now and then, to get off an edge, Ryan finds himself reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket for the square carton. 

It was lunchtime, or at least, that’s what Frank told him as he headed off towards the school building a couple of minutes ago. Ryan had promised to follow, but only after he finished this cigarette. That was...maybe 5 minutes ago? Ryan was nearly through to the middle, the lit end of the cigarette burning the tobacco and paper into ash. 

Gerard had stayed with him, a cigarette in his mouth, too, and his sketchbook in his lap with various colors turning into some form of...a lady? Ryan can’t tell from upside down, but he’s sure it looks better when you’re faced the right way. Gerard was good in what he did. 

Along with Gerard was his little brother, Mikey, who Ryan still didn’t know exactly how he felt about, but thankfully Mikey had followed Frank for lunch, stomach probably growling just like the rest of the boys’. Ryan stamps his cigarette into the ground halfway through this thought, looking down at where Gerard was sitting against one of the poles of the bleachers. 

“Yo’, G.” Ryan says, trying to sound indifferent. Gerard looks up at him, taking his cigarette out of his mouth with pale fingers. 

“Yeah?” Gerard seems to only sometimes tolerate Ryan, because, well...Ryan was probably a little annoying at best. Especially when he wasn’t high. Though it’d highly offend him if said to his face, Ryan could feel something off in the air. He really needed a blunt.

“Wanna go eat, or?” He sticks a thumb in the direction of the school building and Gerard seems to eye it, maybe looking at the dirt and nicotine underneath his nails where he holds up his cigarette. 

“Uh,” Gerard looks down at his drawing, then over to his cigarette, “Maybe later, Ry. But you’re hungry, go join Frankie and Mikes.” Ryan studies Gerard for a moment, looking mainly at his greasy hair and the bags underneath his eyes. Ryan couldn’t figure out for the life of him how he always looked like shit, but made it look good. When Ryan went without eating for a day he looked gaunt, corpse like, and yet Gerard hasn’t ate lunch at school for the past week - and keep in mind, it was Wednesday - and yet he looks maybe just a little peckish. 

Ryan envied that. Though, he had his worries about Gerard. He always had, ever since Sophomore year when Gerard had a very un-pretty eating disorder. Nobody liked to talk about it. Ryan drops the thought in discomfort.

“Okay. Join us if you care to, Gee.” Ryan says before waiting a moment, as if Gerard would suddenly change his mind, before swiveling on his heels and trudging his way up to the school. He felt around in his pockets for his student ID, thankfully finding it. It’s torn and there’s a whole chunk of lamination taken out of it from the time he took his lighter to the damn thing, but it was still legible, which was all that mattered. 

It took no time at all for him to reach the double doors of Velva Brooke, swiping his ID and waiting for the door locks to click open. There’s a beep, which means he’s denied access. He tries again, but it doesn’t go through another time. With a groan, he tries it one more time, the loud beep frustrating him to no end.

He examines his ID, making sure the burn didn’t cover the black bar that identified him. He knew it didn’t, but oh well, he checks anyway, only to find that he was right. The burnt lamination covers his face, his stupid Sophomore year picture almost completely gone. All but half of his face. The black identification bar was perfectly fine. Maybe he was holding it the wrong way?

He does it again, this time facing it the other way, and  _ finally  _ he hears the click of the door unlocking. He grabs the handle harshly, pulling it open to be met with the cool air of the building. It was relatively warm outside, a strange temperature for late September, and it was a stark difference to the inside of the building. Ryan wraps his arms around himself, bare arms prickling with goosebumps. The lunchroom would be warmer and then he could go back to his normal spot under the bleachers, because of course he isn’t going to Pre-Calc. Maybe he’ll go to English, though.

A woman stares at him from her place at an overly large desk. The front office was buzzing with students and teachers, each with a task to get done. Ryan’s lip curls upwards in distaste, his eyes boring into the backs of many. He doesn’t bother stopping at the front desk and asking for a pass, instead hightailing it straight to lunch without even giving a last glance towards the old woman sitting there, no matter how much she called for him to get back there.

He didn’t care. 

The lunchroom is, in fact, warm when he enters it, the heat coming from the students that were packed tightly into the small space, each chatting over their food. Ryan spots his table almost immediately, seeing Frank’s dark hair and Pete’s barely legal tattoos. Ryan thinks, maybe, that they were illegal, but he doesn’t know Pete’s family. For all he knows, Pete’s mom or dad could have consented to the ink. 

“Ry Ross, just the man I was hoping to see today.” Pete grins as Ryan sits down, the lanky boy not bothering to get his lunch. He’d just eat off of Frank’s tray or steal fries from Andy, who Ryan was surprised to see sat there today. Gerard’s seat stayed vacant, though, the one right next to Mikey. Ryan was surprised that the older of the two wasn’t here, trying to fend for the boy. He couldn’t figure out Gerard.

“Why’s that, Pete?” Ryan monotones, snatching a tater-tot from Frank and popping it into his mouth. Frank protests to it, but Ryan just gives him a smile. 

“I was wondering who your plus one to G’s party is?” Pete gives Ryan a big smile, raising an eyebrow to accentuate his question. Ryan’s eyes transfix on the horse-like grin, his own eyebrow raising. Gerard’s party wasn’t until the weekend, leaving plenty of time to worry about it for later, so something had to have sparked Pete’s mind on this question.

“Wasn’t planning on having a plus one.” He says smoothly, taking a piece of chicken from Andy’s plate. He was sat next to Frank, Andy on the other side of him with Mikey next to him, an empty seat open for Gerard next to Mikey. Pete sits directly across from Ryan, empty seats all around him. The table almost felt empty. 

“Ryan Ross with no plus one?” Pete exaggerates a gasp, greasy fingers gripping the fabric of the Metallica shirt he was wearing. Ryan scoffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes as he munches on the chicken he stole from Andy. 

“All my friends are already going and…” Ryan looks around the lunchroom, “Well, there aren’t really any guys I wanna take.” With a shrug, he drops his eyes from Pete to the colored table his elbows were resting on. 

He hears Pete laugh, “No guys you wanna take? There’s a  _ prime  _ selection of guys in here, Ross.” Ryan sighs, unimpressed eyes meeting Pete’s again. 

“I  _ know  _ that, Pete, there’s just not any I wanna take.” Beside him Frank is having a conversation with Andy about...veganism? Oh, yeah, Andy was a vegan...what was chicken doing on his plate? Ryan finds himself ready to ask, when Pete interrupts him. 

“You tellin’ me you  _ don’t  _ gawk at--” Ryan interrupts Pete this time. 

“Whoever it is - I don’t.” He shuts down any possibility of a person, because he  _ doesn’t  _ gawk at people. Ryan Ross does not gawk at people. 

“Come on, Ry.” Frank buds in, apparently done talking to Andy about the importance of veganism and now busy winking at Ryan, “You tellin’ me you haven’t checked out--”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, Iero.” Ryan shuts Frank down, too, chewing on his bottom lip in annoyance. It was bad enough, all these rumors going around about him, but now his own friends were pestering him about a plus one? The table gets quiet, both Frank and Pete smirking at each other, for no obvious reason other than they just  _ love  _ to see an annoyed Ryan. 

Well, hooray, they accomplished their goal. 

Mikey speaks up, then, “I’m bringing a few friends.” It’s spoken softly, quietly, but it grabs Ryan’s attention. 

“Like who, Mikey?” Frank says before Ryan has the chance to, but it’s much nicer off of Frank’s tongue than it would have been off of Ryan’s. 

“Uh, Ray Toro. His friends.” One of Mikey’s thin fingers point over to a table across the lunchroom, but it’s hard not to miss Ray Toro’s fro. Ryan looks at the table, a couple of kids around his age sitting at it. He recognizes Dallon Weekes, the little teacher’s pet. He feels a scoff ready to roll off his tongue, looking away before even taking in the rest of the table. 

“Dallon Weekes is  _ your  _ friend?” Ryan asks accusingly, eyes trained on Mikey. He feels like he’s just now seeing him for the first time, square framed glasses sitting on his face and a black beanie sagging on top of his head. The sides of his hair are pinned to his cheeks, probably burnt to a crisp from all the heat of the straightening iron he probably used in the morning. 

Mikey doesn’t look at him, just nods before poking the straw through one of the tiny, green juice boxes the school supplied to them, and taking a sip. “Mhm.” Ryan frowns, shrugging before looking around the table to see everyone watching the conversation. What? Was it not common for Ryan to actually take things for an answer? He just didn’t know how to respond, and this  _ was  _ his best friends brother. He wasn’t going to be a dick to him, as much as he so desperately wanted to most of the time. 

“Well,” Pete cranes his neck again, more than likely looking at the aforementioned table again, “I think that it’d be fine, but that’s because there is  _ one fine _ blonde sitting next to that other ‘fro.” He sees a few more of his friends turn to look, but Ryan doesn’t bother. He stopped stealing food a while ago, instead keeping his hands clasped together above the table, his elbows crooked and resting on the flat surface with his hands high above them. 

He didn’t quite know if he should tell Gerard that Mikey is inviting his nerd friends, because what if Gerard already knew and didn’t care? Then Ryan would seem like a jackass, but maybe rightfully so. He thought it unfair that he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, but gave up on trying to figure a way out. He’d just let his body dangle from the place that was caught. 

The bell rings 10 minutes later, but Ryan doesn’t get up. He watches as his friends get up around him, each bidding one another goodbye as they go their separate ways. Ryan waves at whoever he thinks said bye to him, putting his head down on the table once most of them were gone. There were still a few kids in the lunchroom, keeping their noise level minimum.

Ryan can feel eyes on his back, he swears he can, but he doesn’t look up. Most people looked at him, his ratty leather jacket and old, fading graphic tees. He wore one that displayed the tacky, tourist ‘I Heart La,’ with a big, red heart. His jeans were fraying at the seams, tight but still loose around his legs. The pointed, brown dress shoes he’s had since his Freshman year were getting torn at the heel, but he didn’t stop wearing them. 

He couldn’t stop wearing them, he didn’t have any other shoes to wear.

He stayed like that, head down, eyes closed, until the bell rang for the start of 4th period. He got up almost immediately, ready to return to his spot back under the bleachers. Maybe Gerard would be there, maybe he went home early. He wouldn’t know, Gerard didn’t seem to have much of a schedule. 

  
Ryan thinks that he’d much rather have been like Gerard and had a cigarette for lunch.


	3. Gerard: A Journal of Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Gerard. He's complicated.

Gerard watched Ryan’s retreating form with a sigh, looking down at his sketchpad once the boy was out of sight. The array of colors didn’t catch his eye this time, just like last time, so he turned the page to start again. Next to him he only had a black crayon, a pen, and some colored pencils. They were grubby from all the times they had sat in the same place on the dry, uncovered dirt. He reaches for the crayon. 

He could hear the gym kids running around the track, their teacher yelling at them to go faster. Gerard couldn’t remember a time where he participated in gym, he thinks his teacher just passed him because he saw how much of a failure he was going to be. He didn’t like to run and he couldn’t lift much more than a big dog, let alone his own body weight. 

Gym was idiotic like that. 

Birds were tweeting from a distance, loud and obnoxious, and for once Gerard just wants some peace and quiet. He can’t concentrate and he’s already mismarked on the paper in front of him, something that normally wouldn’t bother him. Something felt wrong, today, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

He pulls out another cigarette. 

It lights effortlessly, the end burning orange embers. He takes a slow drag, letting the nicotine fill his lungs before puffing it out. The back of his head hits the pole of the bleacher he’s sitting against, neck craned so it could do so. It was a surprisingly sunny day, warmth in the air, but Gerard felt cold. The jacket that was tightly hanging onto his body wasn’t smothering, maybe the opposite, and black jeans attracted the warmth of the sun's rays. Yet Gerard felt cold inside. 

He hasn’t been eating much recently, he takes into notice. His stomach growls for food, but Gerard just brings his legs up closer to his chest, bent at the knee so he could rest his sketchbook on top. He didn’t want to eat, he felt sick. 

Just...not sick to his stomach. 

A good twenty minutes has passed with him just sitting there, his cigarette having been dug into the ground nearing ten minutes ago, fingernails with chipped black polish clutching onto the leather bound book in his lap. The pages not used were yellowing, the ones with thick ink on them curled slightly. It wasn’t the most spectacular of Gerard’s art, but it was  _ him.  _ It was his emotions tied into one little book, much like a journal to a writer. It’s just his journal...as an artist. He liked that it actually made sense to him. 

He looks up almost immediately as someone approaches him, grey sperrys grabbing his attention. The person is also wearing black pants, skinny jeans, matched with a purple shirt and a fake, black varsity jacket. Gerard furrows his eyebrows at them, their pompadour looking preppy and their smile almost too white. 

Gerard couldn’t decide how he wanted to react. 

“Hey, um. Uh.” The person stops and Gerard narrows his eyes, not saying a word. He waits for them to begin again. “I’m kind of new here and I don’t know the building? You’re the only person I’ve seen ‘round who isn’t in a class.” Gerard notices the Spanish accent almost immediately once the boy starts talking again. 

“What’s your name?” Gerard asks, completely ignoring everything the boy had said. He looked miffed for a second before clearing his throat. 

“Gabe.” He says, “Gabe Saporta. I transf-”

Gerard cuts him off, “I didn’t ask that.” His eyes must look cold because Gabe is frowning down at him, and Gerard notices him playing with the iPhone in his pocket, picking at the lock button. Gerard quirks an eyebrow upwards, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. “The main building is just up there.” He raises a hand, pointing a finger at the brick building of the high school. 

Gabe turns around, eyeing where he’s pointing before sighing. “Thanks. I, uh...What’s your name?” He seems awkward as he says this, maybe a bit innocent. Gerard looks down at his sketchbook, licking his lips and contemplating telling Gabe his name. 

“Gerard.” He says simply, not bothering to look up. For a second he thinks Gabe is going to say something else, but then he hears clean, grey shoes scuffing in the dirt, walking away. 

Gerard tried to think about just  _ why  _ anyone would come up to  _ him  _ and ask for directions. And when he was sitting under the bleachers? He figured that was kind of an obvious  _ ‘don’t talk to me, I’m a recluse and will snap at you’ _ sort of move. He guessed not to  _ ‘Gabe’. _

Observing his sketchbook again and re-picking up the black crayon that must have fell from his grasp earlier, Gerard began to make aimless lines. That’s when Ryan shows up again. He knows its Ryan because of the shoes that come into view directly across from him, almost like Gabe’s had. 

“Y’know, Gee, you could say hi.” Ryan’s monotonous voice speaks up from across from him, and Gerard has noticed he decided to sit against that specific pole out of all the ones here. It’s not that he didn’t love Ryan, as a friend, it was just that Ryan was truthfully  _ annoying  _ sometimes. 

“Hi.” He says, curtly, looking up at Ryan. He takes in Ryan’s messy hair, pinpointing small details all the way down to the nicotine under his nails. Ryan smirks at him, rolling his eyes and kicking Gerard’s foot with his own. Gerard sighs, rolling his eyes as well. 

“Ran into a dude that told me he liked my shirt. Had pink hair, it was rad.” Ryan goes on without Gerard asking him to, “Think his name was Jake? Josh, maybe? He’s a grade below us, but he looks pretty punk rock. Thinkin’ about inviting him to sit at our table, since it’s been pretty  _ vacant lately _ .” 

Gerard knows a stab when he hears one, “I’ve just not wanted to go to lunch, recently. Pete has-”

“Pete hasn’t done anything but what he normally does, Gerard.” Ryan retorts, cutting him off, and Gerard  _ knows  _ that Ryan knows that he  _ hates  _ being cut off. “You don’t want to eat, so cut the shit. I’m not letting you fall back into Sophomore year!”

“Shut up!” Gerard snaps, forcefully shutting his sketchbook and putting the crayon to the side, “Just, I don’t know, shut up, Ryan. It’s not your busi-”

“It is when you’re harming yourself like this!” Ryan’s voice is close to raising, but Gerard notes that he’s keeping it under control. He wonders if that has anything to do with Ryan’s dad, but doesn’t mention it. At least  _ he  _ can understand a short blow. 

“I’m not! I just - I-I wasn’t hungry!” Gerard stands up, then, on shaky legs. He dusts the dirt off the butt of his jeans and the back of his legs before bending back down to pick up his possessions. “I’ll eat tomorrow. I promise. Just wasn’t hungry, Ryan.” He didn’t know why Ryan  _ had  _ to mention it,  _ had  _ to start a fight  _ right when he got back.  _ Gerard wanted to yell, but he wouldn’t, because he’s not inconsiderate.

He knows Ryan is watching him as he swings his backpack onto his shoulder, “By the way, I met someone, too! His name is Gabe, he’s new, and he’s got some balls because he talked to me. Maybe a potential boyfriend to you? Since, you know, me and Frankie kinda…” Gerard trails off, realizing that they  _ did  _ just get into a fight. He wonders if Ryan can tell that he’s trying to change the subject before he leaves to try and catch his Math class. 

“Gerard.” Ryan sighs and Gerard watches as he massages his temples, “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, you know that. Please, promise me you’re going to eat tomorrow. I worry about you, you’re my best friend.” 

Gerard thinks for a moment, “I already did promise, didn’t I?” He holds his sketchbook close to his chest, setting his jaw. Ryan looks him up and down, probably calculating, before nodding slowly. 

“Go to Geometry.” He says shortly, looking back down to his lap. Gerard nods quickly, turning and not looking back as he marches his way to the school building. 

_ ‘I wanted out,’  _ he thinks as he enters the school building,  _ ‘I want out.’ _


	4. Josh: Plastic Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh feels alone, unnoticed. Tyler is his only hope.

Sometimes it was easy for Josh to forget that he was all alone but constantly around people. Most of the time it wasn’t. 

He would sit in English, scribbling in his notebook, and he wouldn’t get any looks. He wouldn’t get called on or talked to. He would just sit in the back, a far off look on his face as he doodled stars and skulls in his torn dream journal. Nobody noticed, nobody cared. 

At first, Josh thought he could solve his problems by dyeing his hair a crazy color; red, which faded into orange. Then he dyed it purple, as well as blue, green, and finally pink. He hasn’t got one compliment on his hair that wasn’t from his parents or from a relative. He really was invisible to everyone. 

This really had to be what he thought about on his ride home from school?

The door opens easily enough once he’s out of the car and on his own doorstep, “Mom, I’m home!” Josh calls out, dropping his bag on the chair next to the front door of his house. It had tiny moons and stars decorating it, a deep purple color behind the little splashes of yellow and white. It’s heavy with books and pens inside, weighing it down. Josh refocuses his attention.

He can hear his mom busying around in the kitchen, pots and pans clanking and water running. He waits a second, for a response, but none comes. “Mom?” He calls again, “I’m going to my room…” He murmurs, chewing on his bottom lip and continuing his trek up the stairs. His bedroom was the one at the very end of the hall, the master. His mom and dad let him have it because of his grades being good and of course because the bigger the wall was the more space to put glowy stars and posters. 

He had brought that up and, of course, his parents thought it a valid reason. But, then again, his parents thought anything a valid reason if it made him happy and allowed them to continue to watch him like a hawk. He probably should’ve just went with the smaller room, at least then he could have something to gripe about. Something to actually be wearing such heavy makeup for. Instead his life was...so fucking mundane, so perfect.

Josh loathed it.

“Joshua? You’re home?” His dad asks him when he passes by the said man’s study. Josh pauses his steps, turning his head and nodding. His dad hasn’t even looked up from his computer that sat crooked on his desk.

“Yeah, Dad, just going to my room.” He says, bringing a hand up to mess with the broken skin of his fingers, chewing on his bottom lip. 

His dad looks up, “Do you have homework? Your mom is making dinner and we expect you to tell us how your day went today at the table, you know that. I’ve got to get to work, soon.” His dad had a night shift at some high-class office building, Josh hadn’t really ever known what his dad worked for, didn’t care to ask and had never been expected to. 

“No, dad, I finished it during study hall. Just have some notes to look over for a test we’re having at the end of the week.” It was Monday, so he didn’t  _ have to  _ look over the notes, he just didn’t have much better to do. Josh lets out a sigh when his dad just nods, taking it as his cue to continue to the end of the hall where his room resides. 

When he opens the door he’s met with the smell of his own cologne and the air freshener his mom had plugged in next to his bed. His room was painted a deep, navy blue, those fake little glow in the dark stars taped across his ceiling, illuminating it in the dark. His curtains were closed, light off, but otherwise his room was as he had left it this morning. 

He hops onto his bed almost immediately after toeing his shoes off, burying his face into the softness of his pillow. His bones were achy from carrying his bag all day and walking up and down the steps of his school so many times. The tenseness eased out of him as he lay there, contently closing his eyes.

“Josh!” His mother shouts up the steps, and his moment of peace was gone. A muffled yeah resounds from him, reverberating into his pillow.

“Dinner!” He lets out a soft groan, rolling over onto his back and staring at the almost transparent stars that were no longer lit up since he had flicked on the light. His socked feet touch the carpet as he hangs his legs over the bed, willing himself to get up and go eat. It smelled like spaghetti in the house, almost like every other night, which was no surprise. It was his dad’s favorite meal. Josh preferred taco nights. 

His mom was setting the table when he finally got downstairs, five plates filled with spaghetti and garlic bread at five sides of the table. He eyes the two extra plates, knowing there were only three people in the house. 

“What’re the two extra plates for, Mom?” Josh asks, chewing on his bottom lip. His mom looks up, curly brown hair accentuating a round face. She smiles at him, pearly white teeth peeking out from behind her lips. 

“You father is having over a co-worker and his son. He’s around your age, Joshua.” She chuckles, waving him off as if he had just made a joke. His eyebrows furrow as he gives his mom a strange look. 

“Does he go to my school?” Josh finds himself asking, wondering if this was his chance to  _ finally  _ make a new friend. 

His mother shakes her head, much to Josh’s dismay. “No, but he  _ is  _ looking to transfer to a school, your father says. Apparently he gets bullied at school.” Josh, sadly, thinks that he  _ wishes  _ he’d get bullied. At least he’d be noticed. He feels a drop in his stomach at the awful thought, knowing that bullying can get to an extreme.

“What’s his-” Josh gets cut off by the doorbell ringing and his mother had  _ just  _ gotten finished placing the centerpiece, the final detail to the table, when she had to rush to answer the door. Josh looks down at his shoes and he can hear the steps creak as his father comes down the stairs. It only takes a second before two foreign voices fill the house, warm sounding and friendly.

“Josh! Come here, please!” His mother’s shrill voice interrupts his thoughts and he hurries to do as his mother has asked. He pats down his shirt and combs his fingers through his hair, smiling at his mother as she comes into view. Then his eyes travel onto a boy about his age, maybe a year or so younger than him. 

He has short, messy brown hair, and was wearing a very clean, white button up with black slacks. Josh thinks it must be for the occasion and feels very underdressed in his own house. He looks down at his nebula t-shirt and black skinny jeans, then back up to his guests with a smile. 

“Chris!” Josh’s Dad was exuberant in his greeting, bounding down the stairs and shaking Chris’ hand in a firm grip. Josh watches the interaction, silently hoping that one of his parents would introduce him so he didn’t have to himself.

Josh’s wish comes true when his Mom turns to him with another smile.

“This is Joshua. Josh, meet Chris, your Father’s co-worker, and his son Tyler.” She motions towards their guests with a wave of her hand. Josh watches them both, Chris nodding towards him and Tyler waving shyly. 

“Hello, Joshua. It’s a pleasure to meet William’s offspring.” Josh refrains from scrunching up his nose at the word ‘offspring’, instead smiling and ducking his head. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Josh says, before his Mom is taking over the conversation. Josh is left to just stare at Tyler and Tyler’s Dad, biting his lip and messing with the hem of his shirt to keep him from fidgeting too much. 

“The chit chat is nice, dear, but this old man is hungry.” Josh’s Dad is quick to break the conversation once his Mom gets on the topic of Josh’s baby photos, one thing that Josh is thankful for. Chris also looks slightly relieved and Josh looks to Tyler, trying to gauge his expression, but he remains looking cooly unaffected by the conversation. 

Josh’s Mother sighs, smiling slyly at William before turning back to Tyler and Chris. “Come on into the dining room, then.” She beckons, and Josh is first to follow her, his Dad behind him and their guests behind them. 

Once they’re both in the dining room, she turns to Josh, “Joshua, why don’t you and Tyler go up to your room while your dad and Chris talk? I need to finish up the food, anyway.” Josh vacantly wonders why she had called him down, then, but realizes quickly it was a ploy to get Josh to meet their guests without telling him about the guests.

“Yes, Tyler, go ask him about his school!” Chris all but shoves Tyler towards Josh with a firm pat on the shoulder. Josh is quick to give Tyler a shy smile, and after getting one in return he leads Tyler up the stairs and into his room. 

When the doors shut and Josh is turning around, Tyler has already cowered into a corner, much to Josh’s surprise. 

“Please don’t leave bruises.” Tyler whines and Josh has never been more confused as he looked up at his plastic stars.


	5. Gabe: Friend Request Sent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe talks to his dad and plucks up the courage to add Gerard on Facebook.

If there were two things that Gabe resented about his move from New Jersey High to fuckin’ Velva Brooke High, they’d have to be leaving William behind and having to come out of the closet all over again. Which, really, not being able to see William everyday was hard, but coming out of the closet to a new body of students was truly fucking disheartening. 

It was his own dumbass fault for being transferred, though, so he couldn’t exactly do what every high school transferee in all of the movies do; blame his Mom for moving or his Dad for divorcing his Mom or whatever the fuck. He couldn’t blame anyone else, because he was the only one to blame. 

“Gabriel, you’re home from school already?” His Dad is sitting in the living room as he gets home, much earlier than his normal time. School got out at 3:15 and his house was a 10 minute drive away from the school. His old school was 15 minutes away and normally he’d make out with William in his car for about an hour before he drove the boy home and then went home himself. 

He wasn’t allowed to see William yet, though, he had another week to go before his Mom and Dad would let up on the ‘punishment’ they had served him for ‘his mistake’. 

“Yeah, Dad, I don’t have much else to do.” Gabe drops his bag down on the old, brown velvet couch of the living room, the one that sits diagonal from his Dad’s recliner that the older man was in. 

“You haven’t made any new friends? I’m sure you must have. You know that  _ William  _ isn’t everything, don’t you, boy?” William was a touchy subject between Gabe and his Mother and Father. They didn’t like him, partly because he was his  _ boyfriend _ , but also because Gabe normally spent nearly all of his time around him. 

“Well, uh…” Gabe truthfully hadn’t made  _ any  _ friends. Mainly just acquaintances, as well as that one kid - Dan, maybe - who was nearly his height with a handsome appearance to him in the way he dressed. There was also that bleacher kid, Gerard...or something like Gerard. He seemed a little less than friendly, slightly on the demeaning side.

“I met a kid named Gerard, Dad. And a kid named Dan...I think.” His Dad looked up at him finally, probably trying to deduce if he was lying or not. Gabe’s father was getting into his 50’s, greying around the edges, but he could still catch a lie out of Gabe like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Gerard and Dan, huh?” Gabe’s dad turns away from Gabe at this, “Maybe you could invite them over sometime, so I can meet someone other than  _ William,  _ Gabriel.” Gabe really didn’t understand why his parents were so adamant that he make friends other than William. William was nice, he was his  _ boyfriend _ , and Gabe loved him. Period.

“Well, you probably wouldn’t want to meet Gerard. He’s brash. And I barely said a handful of sentences to Dan, Dad.” Gabe looked through the living room and to the hallway that held the door to his room, wanting to escape to solace. Maybe jack off or something when he’s in there, to the thought of William’s beautiful eyes and sparkling smile. What else was there to do?

“Well, maybe you need to talk to them more, Gabriel, you’ve only spoken to them, what? Once today? Twice? Really, Gabriel, you act like you’re stupid.” His father turns his attention back to the television, meaning that the conversation was over. Gabe looks at him for a second longer, lips pressed together into a thin line, before he’s on his way to his room.

Gabe really missed William. William was really his only friend, seeing as his old school wasn’t accepting of minorities. Maybe his dad was right, maybe making new friends could be a good thing. Sitting in his room and moping because his boyfriend can’t come over isn’t going to resolve anything, and this new school is a new opportunity.

He quickly reaches under his bed, retrieving a black laptop with multiple stickers stuck to the back of the screen. One states, ‘Love the World’ that had a heart on it with a globe pattern inside, another a bright yellow sun with ‘Burn Bright’ written on it. Gabe pays no attention to them, instead shuffling his position, sitting upright on his bed and typing in ‘Facebook’ on the URL bar. 

It loads quickly, Gabe being met with his feed. He scrolls down it for a second, stalling, before going up to the search bar and typing in ‘Gerard’. It comes up with a couple, but he thinks the first one is his best bet, ‘Gerard Way’. His profile picture showed him, pulling a sarcastic, over-exaggerated smile, with two other boys on either side of him. One had dirty-blonde hair that was straightened to a pinpoint, he looked very much like Gerard, and the other had dark brown hair and was pouting at the camera. 

Gabe looks down through Gerard’s account, seeing that most things are private, except for a few photos. There’s a photo of Gerard with a cigarette between his fingers, one arm crossed over him giving the one holding the cigarette support. The background is most definitely the bleachers of the school, Gabe can tell from the support bars behind Gerard. 

Another photo features Gerard with a shorter boy, black hair with shaved, bleach blonde sides. The boy is making a kissy face at Gerard and Gerard is rolling his eyes playfully. The sight makes Gabe smirk, wondering if this could be Gerard’s boyfriend. He gives the photo one last look before scrolling down to look at one last photo, this one a big group photo. 

Gerard was off to the side, standing next to the kid with the brown hair that was featured in his profile picture. Next to that kid, on the end, is the boy from before that Gabe had assumed was Gerard’s possible boyfriend, and then on the other end stood a boy with a dark black fringe that had a red streak through the front of it. The four boys were at what seemed like the town fireworks, the date of the photo being July 6th, two days after. They stood in front of a crowd of people, looking like punks.

Gabe sighs, before scrolling back up and looking at Gerard’s Facebook info, his bio stating ‘flinging shit in the sterilized eye of the world’. Gabe chuckled to himself, shaking his head before hovering his mouse over the ‘Add Friend’ button. He takes a deep breath before clicking it, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

‘Friend Request Sent’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment! I would love to hear some feedback and also, if you notice a mistake feel free to point it out! Thank :)


	6. Pete: Liquidy Puke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Pete.

A can of spray paint hits the pavement with a loud, metal clank. Tattered, black Converse run away from the can speedily, rounding corner after corner until they stop in front of a lit up house. 

It was Wednesday night and Pete was doing what he would be doing any other night - being rebellious. It wasn’t like he had much better to do, his friends were all stuck doing something. Gerard and Ryan never seemed to like to do much, Andy worked almost immediately after school and all through the day, and Frank was grounded from dyeing his dog red. Which, yeah, that was pretty rad, but Pete was  _ bored _ .

The house smelled of alcohol and sweat as Pete entered it, welcomed by nothing but loud music and humid air. Pete’s mental checklist for the night was nearly complete as he checked out  _ ‘go to that party Andy had mentioned in Biology’ _ , the previous checkmark on  _ ‘spraypaint a dick onto the side of a building with the half-empty can you found by the train tracks near your house’. _

“Pete Wen’z! Jus’ tha’ man I wan’d to see!” An arm swings around Pete’s shoulders and Pete laughs at the familiar voice. Jack Barakat sure was something when he was drunk, a mess of slurs and friendly touches. His dark brown hair with that dumb streak of blonde Pete had dared him to put through his bangs the summer before last seemed dull in the lighting of the house, but his drunken smile was bright enough to make up for it. 

“Where’s the booze at, Jackie? And where’s ‘Lex?” Pete looks around Jack for the other boy, Jack’s best friend since middle school, but the other brunette was nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh, Lex’s um...somewhere?” Jack offers with a weak smile, arm falling from Pete’s shoulders. Pete furrows his brows. “Drinks’re over there,” Jack motions with a thumb, “But you can prob’ly just steal someone else’s.” 

Before Pete can get a word in, Jack’s attention is caught by something else and then he’s gone. Pete looks after him for a moment, but decides joining the party was a better idea. He might be in desperate need of socialization, but when it comes to drunk people and socializing, Pete decides being drunk as well is a necessity. 

Parties were the best place to get booze when you were 17, because asking his Mom was an absolute no, and most of his friends weren’t 21 or over. Besides, those that were always told him that they’d rather not have  _ ‘supplying alcohol to a minor’  _ under their criminal belt. So parties were a blessing with all the shitty beer Pete could ask for. 

Pete finds the booze easy enough, his first sip tasting like ass. His eighth sip, too, and even his thirteenth sip. He doesn’t know when it stops tasting like piss, but he figures it was somewhere around his fifth can when his arm was around that girl that sometimes showed up to his English class.

\--

“Get up, get your clothes, get out. I don’t have all day.” Pete only really hears the last half of the two sentences before a door is slamming and jarring him awake. With awareness comes nausea and a pounding headache. 

Pete throws up over the side of the bed he was laying on, narrowly missing the trash can that should have been conveniently placed beside the bed, getting liquidy vomit all over the plush carpet of the room he was in. He realizes that he has comfy, white sheets around him, and a warm body next to him. 

He still feels nauseous. 

“Mm, dude that’s sick.” The voice beside him is rough, concrete like edges to the tone. As if the person it belonged to had eaten the contents of a cement truck. “Fuck, that’s gnarly.” He feels the bed move, weight being lifted from it, and then the person who the voice belongs to comes into view. 

Very tall, was Pete’s first impression. His second was, oh, holy shit, very  _ hot _ . The guy was near naked, powder blue boxers leaving certain things to Pete’s imagination, but everything else was there so Pete didn’t have to. 

“Okay, so, we need to talk.” Tall guy says as he pulls on his tight,  _ tight  _ skinny jeans. Pete eyes his ass as it slips into the dark material. “I know you.”

Pete is slightly alarmed for a second, before he remembers that he doesn’t have much of a reputation anymore, so it didn’t quite matter if word got out that he fucked this dude. Why did it matter. “Yeah, and?” Pete’s head protests as he talks, and he slightly wonders  _ how  _ this guy isn’t phased by his hangover.

If he had a hangover. Pete wonders if the dude was completely sober when they had ‘went to bed’ the night before.

“And?” The guy seems a little peeved as he pulls his shirt on, and Pete makes a move to get up and follow his lead - the guy who slammed the door earlier seemed adamant that they leave, he really did - stepping around his vomit as he looks around for his clothes. “And, we go to the same school. I don’t know if you know me or not, but I don’t want my name coming off your lips, Wentz.”

Pete chances a glance to tall guy as he’s pulling on his own skinny jeans, wiggling his tattooed hips into them. His ink was illegal, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t well done, which is why most of the time Pete hated covering the dark black designs with jeans. He hoped tall guy had gotten a good look at his  _ Bartskull _ , a design he had created himself that was a mix of a bat, heart, and skull, that was inked just above his groin. 

“I don’t even know your name, don’t flatter yourself.” Pete chuckles, tugging on his shirt with some local bands name ironed onto it. He didn’t remember the gig, but supposed that he had liked them enough to spend his money on their merch. 

“Good. Keep it that way.” Tall guy says as he opens the door, “And I’ll make sure not to tell the whole school that you’re easy to get into bed. Also that your throw up is possibly the grossest thing I’ve ever woken up to. Have a good day, Wentz.” Then he’s out the door, leather jacket and dirty blonde hair blowing backwards with the breeze of his brisk pace. 

Pete can only look after him with an awed expression. Okay, tall, hot dude could bite. Well, Pete could play that game. He grabs the rest of his possessions and slips on his shoes, padding out of the door only minutes after Mr. Tall Guy. 

One night stands and a game? Well, that’s better and more entertaining than anything Pete has had in a long time.


	7. Frank: Gravel Gashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Frank's mind.

Frank’s knuckles were bloody again. He’d punched another wall, the brick soothing his anger but sending violent, surging pains through his hand. If his gloves weren’t fingerless, then maybe they would have saved his knuckles, but Frank never learns. 

The moon shines above him, the darkness of the night engulfing him as he sags against the brick wall he had just punched. His head was a mess. Too many things were going wrong in his life. 

He groans, smacking the back of his head against the wall. He looks up at the moon, full and bright and  _ flourishing  _ above him. His upper lip curls in disgust and he finds himself spitting at the moon, but instead of it making it all the way up into the sky like he had wished, it just lands on his face.

He wipes it off with the sleeve of his jacket, which wasn’t entirely appropriate for the slightly warm weather of September, but as his spit soaks the sleeve slightly, he finds that he’s thankful for it. “Motherfuckin’ moon.” He grumbles. 

His school day had gone so well. He had hung out with Gee, Ry, and Mikes nearly all day, but his depression was getting too much, sitting in his house alone. His dad didn’t even leave him a note this time, like he had in the days previous. No ‘working late’ or ‘at a friends, be back sometime late’. Nothing.

Ryan’s parents were fighting again tonight, so that was the third day in a row that he’d had to stay home to calm his mother down while his father left for work, he wasn’t in the mood to hang out with Pete and listen to him shit talk someone or another, so he had told him a lie about being grounded, and Gerard had party planning to do. He  _ had  _ offered for Frank to come over and help, but Gerard was  _ also  _ one of his problems. Another scratch in Frank’s brain for him to pick at. A hopeless crush that was no more than hand touches and maybe the occasional lip lock. Frank knew that he meant  _ nothing  _ to Gerard, where Gerard meant  _ everything  _ to him.

Frank bites his lip. He had ran from his house to the alley down the block literally just to punch a wall. He was such a fucking idiot. What was he gonna do next? Drown himself in beer? Smoke the rest of his pack of cigarettes and call up Bob begging him for more when he just called for a pack yesterday? Sure, it was his money, but he knew Bob would be  _ looking at him _ in that way that Bob looks at everyone who does something he deems strange or self-destructive.

So he was stuck, sitting against a brick wall, knees drawn up to his chest, head hung and knuckles bleeding. That is, until gravel crunches beneath heavy boots to his left, startling him.

“What’re ya’ doin’, kid? It’s half pas’ ‘leven, shouldn’t you be home...or partyin’?” It’s a man who looks to be in his late 20’s, maybe 27, who is obviously drunk in the way he was slurring his words.

Frank decides to just stare, brows furrowed with a hard look in his eyes. The man looks surprised at this, looking around for a second.

“You gi’in’ me tha’ look? Man, tha’s some funny shit, seein’ as you’re the’un on the groun’, kid.” Frank is confused at this statement for a half of a second, before the mans big, heavy boot comes in contact with his side. It sends him toppling over, arm being smashed beneath him and head coming in contact with the gravel beneath him. He’s more than sure there’s going to be a bruise or a gash there in the morning.

“Stupid fuckin’ kid.” The man spits, literally, and it lands on Frank’s upper thigh, soaking the fabric. Frank expects more, but the drunken man just walks away. Frank goes to sit up, looking for the man, when he feels a warmth pool from his forehead. He was bleeding. Wonderful. 

He sees the man still, walking across the street and down the adjacent alley across from the one Frank was currently sat in. He had the perfect chance to run after him, get into a nasty fuckin’ fight, but his knuckles had taken enough damage for the day and his head wound was enough to make him feel weaker than he actually was. He had gotten in plenty of fights, he could take the guy, but on top of his injuries, he also had his depression gnawing a goddamn hole in his brain, right next to the gash the gravel had made.

He brings a hand up to touch his forehead, knowing that the only reason he had even come in contact with the man was because he was seated in an alley right next to a bar, though it wasn’t notorious for being a bar that had many fights. Frank  _ did  _ live in a semi-okay neighborhood, it’s just that most people in Jersey were assholes when you put alcohol in them, and also - most people didn’t like dirty looks. 

Frank was the notorious one. Notorious for being a  _ fucking idiot _ , as stated earlier. He stands, joints popping as he does so. He dusts his ass off, turning to lay the side of his head that wasn’t bleeding against the wall. He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment before popping them back open with an idea.

There was a bar around the corner and he was a teenage boy that could more than likely snag a drink from  _ somewhere _ , if they even ID-ed him.

“Oh, fuck yeah.” Frank says, scrubbing his hand across the gash on his face to attempt to remove any dirt or blood that was staining his forehead, before wiping his hand on his jeans and turning to walk down to the bar with a neon sign proclaiming ‘Dim and Gusties’, although the neon ‘s’ was out so it was technically ‘Dim and Guties’ at the moment. Frank rolled his eyes at it, walking up the two steps and into the bar.

He was ready to get fucked. Well, in a sense.


	8. Mikey: Bursts of Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey goes to therapy and questions what's wrong with Frank and just who this 'Dan Keyes' guy is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I rushed the ending of this chapter, mainly because I was losing some muse for writing it. I apologize, but I hope it still meets standards.

Thursday morning rolled around and while most teenagers would be happy that the week was nearly done, Mikey was normally an anxious mess on Thursdays. Thursdays were the spawn of satan, just like Tuesdays, and often left Mikey crying in the boys’ bathroom during seventh period. 

Thursdays just sucked. Thursdays meant bringing up repressed memories. Thursdays meant  _ therapy _ . Mikey Way hated Thursdays.

“Come on, Mikey, school starts soon and while I don’t give a shit about being late, Ryan, Pete, and Frank are waiting for us under the bleachers.” Gerard was sat next to him on his bed, where Mikey lay with the covers drawn over his head. 

“Not going. Maybe if I’m sick I won’t have to see Dr. Palmer today.” Mikey’s voice is muffled by the covers, but Gerard can still understand him.

“You know mom made you last time, Mikes. Get the fuck up.” Gerard leaves it at that, Mikey feeling the weight shift as Gerard got up off of his bed and left his room. Mikey stayed in his same place for another minute before groaning and throwing the cover off of himself, revealing messy bed head and plaid pajamas. 

It takes Mikey very little time to get ready in the morning. He combed his hair and straightened it into it’s pin-like nature after throwing on black skinny jeans and a ‘Journey’ shirt that was covered up by his Moto jacket. Gerard was back in his room again in no time, nagging at him to hurry and get his shoes on.

“I’m trying, Gee.” Mikey struggles to tie the lace of his left shoe, causing Gerard to sigh and bend down.

“Fifteen and you don’t know how to tie your shoes, Mikes.” Gerard jokes, but Mikey feels a twinge of embarrassment surge through him, anyway. He hides it well enough as Gerard ties his other shoe, but internally thinks about buying zip-up boots.

In reality, Mikey wasn’t very good at a lot of things. He spaced out constantly, couldn’t hold a conversation for shit, had anxiety issues, was too silent, and couldn’t even tie his own shoes. He felt like a brick wall half the time he was around anyone, and was only himself when he was alone. Only himself in his head.

“Okay, done. Come on.” Gerard was awfully chipper this morning, Mikey noticed, a mood he was normally in when he had been thinking about things for too long. This caused Mikey to narrow his eyes when Gerard had his back turned, but to keep his calm poker face when his brother was looking at him.

Mikey was used to what happened from there. They’d hop in Gerard’s beaten up Trans Am, Gerard would drive them to school, and then they’d meet up with Frank, Pete, and Ryan.

Except Pete was nowhere to be seen that morning.

“Yo’, where’s Pete?” Gerard asks as they walk up to Ryan and Frank, who were busy passing a cigarette back and forth. Mikey furrows his eyebrows, taking note of the new cut that was still healing on Frank’s forehead, and his bloody knuckles. He also had deep dark circles that could just be day old eyeliner stains, but Mikey knew better. 

He looked to Gerard who barely seemed to notice.

“Dunno, hasn’t showed.” Ryan mumbles with the nearly half smoked cigarette in his mouth. “Not unusual, eh?” 

“Nah, he probably had a wicked night partying or something.” Frank says, cheerful. Gerard sits next to Frank, leaving Mikey sitting next to Ryan.

“Yeah, true.” Gerard agrees, snatching the cigarette up that Ryan had intended to pass to Frank.

“Hey, douchebag, that’s my last one!” Ryan complains, “Smoked a whole fuckin’ pack just to ease my damn nerves. Mom was crying all night…” He sighed and Mikey took note of just how tired Ryan did actually look. In the distance Mikey hears the bell go, signalling the beginning of the school day. He could also see the first period gym class walk out onto the track, dressed and ready for the day, with the exception of a few stragglers.

Mikey kind of missed going to class sometimes, but then he remembers the  _ staring _ .

“So why does Frankie get to share?” Mikey can hear the pout in his brother's voice without even having to look at him. Mikey half expects Ryan to just leave his explanation at ‘cause’, but then Frank interrupts. 

“Lost my pack last night, Gee, just needed a fix.” He says earnestly and Mikey looks to Gerard, seeing understanding in his eyes as he hands the cigarette to Frank. It’s not long that they’re sitting there when Pete finally shows up, hair a mess and what looks to be dried vomit on his mouth. Mikey even notices that he’s wearing the same thing he had worn the day before.

“Sorry m’late, partying.” Pete says, plopping himself down on the other side of Ryan. “Sex, alcohol. Gotta killer hangover.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” Frank says and Mikey watches as the two stare at each other for a second. 

“What the fuck did you guys do last night?” Ryan questions, “I was apparently missing out, huh?”

Pete is the first to clam up, “Nothing. Just went to a party that...I think it was Ashley’s party?” He says it quickly, obviously trying to divert anymore questions. 

Frank says nothing, however, just staring at the ground as he flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette. 

“Frangipane? Or Simpson?” Ryan asks and Pete looks off into the distance, over towards the school, so Mikey follows his gaze. 

“Uh…Ashley with a ‘y’, so Frangipane, I think.” Mikey heard Pete say, obviously distracted. A car was just pulling up to the school, a tall boy with blonde hair getting out and locking it. Mikey looks at Pete who seems to be glaring daggers.

“So, what’d you do, Frankie?” Gerard asks, and Mikey doesn’t even recall his brother getting his sketchbook out, but there it sat in his lap, pencil in his hand.

“Nothin’.” Frank says, obviously not wanting to talk about it. This causes everyone to look at him. The boy is looking at his beat up Chuck Taylor’s, chewing at the backside of his lip ring. 

“Thought you said you were grounded?” Pete comments and Frank looks up. 

“I was. I just said, I didn’t do anything.” Mikey can tell he’s lying with how defensive he was getting.

“Then how’d you lose-”

“Can we stop talking about this?” Frank snaps, handing the cigarette back to Ryan finally, who grabs it but makes no move to take a drag off of it. 

Everyone is staring at Frank now, who is hanging his head. Mikey looks from his head wound to his scraped up knuckles.

“Did you get in a fight?” Mikey says quietly and then Frank practically explodes. 

“I punched a wall, got kicked by a drunken asshole, and got beyond fucking comprehension drunk, okay? Leave me alone.” Frank is up from his spot in no time, black Misfits bag hanging at his side as he storms off towards the school. 

Mikey sighs, not having meant to make Frank angry, but no one seemed to be blaming him for pressing it, either.

\--

The school bell rang shrilly in Mikey’s ears, noise immediately bursting as the teenagers around him leaped up to get out of the hell hole that was Velva Brooke. Mikey grabs his notebook off of his desk, full of bad doodles and notes. He had decided to ditch the rest of the group what was probably an hour after Frank had freaked and fled, arriving to his third period with the rest of the class.

Seventh period was rolling around and Mikey wasn’t excited for the school day to get over, not at all. He treaded slowly to his last class, hanging his head and scuffing his shoes against the floor. His glasses hung low on his nose and his left shoe had come untied when a Junior had accidentally stepped on it during fifth period. 

“Hey! Hey, wa- wait up!” Mikey hears behind him, but he figured it wasn’t aimed at him. Who would be calling for him, anyway? He was just a Freshman and knew nearly no one at Velva Brooke.

“Kid! Kid with the jacket and th- the untied shoe, you forgot this!” Mikey furrows his eyebrows, still continuing on his path until the voice gets closer and is suddenly right behind him.

“You forgot your pen, kid. It’s a nice pen, didn’t think you’d wanna leave it.” A hand taps his shoulder and he turns around to come face to face with the same tall blonde boy Pete was glaring daggers at earlier this morning.

“Oh...yeah. Thank you.” Mikey says, carefully taking his pen out of the stranger's hand. The boy smiles and follows Mikey as he walks away.

“So, look, you know that Ryan Ross kid?” Tall boy asks and Mikey keeps a poker face.

“If it’s because you...heard the rumor about him...doing stuff with Mr. McCartney, that’s not true.” Mikey snips, “But...yes. A little.” Mikey didn’t know why he was being so defensive of Ryan, maybe it was the fact that Ryan was his brother’s best friend, but Mikey didn’t know.

The boy looks taken aback, blinking and steadily keeping up with Mikey. The bell had went just over a minute ago and Mikey really didn’t want to walk into class later than needed. 

“Uh, didn’t...catch that rumor, but no. I just...wanted to ask because…” The boy trails off and Mikey looks at him, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“Well, my name is Dan. Dan Keyes. I kinda was planning on asking your friend if he’d like to,” Dan takes a breath, “Go out sometime? But like...I’m not sure how to approach him.” Mikey eyes Dan up and down, cogs working in his mind, and as they reach his classroom he decides something.

“Okay, Dan, um...my name is Mikey. Mikey...Way, Gerard’s brother...you wanna come to a party Saturday?” Mikey doesn’t know if it was much of a good idea, seeing as Dan was a stranger to him, but Dan sounded genuine enough, and despite the nasty looks Pete seemed to send his way, Mikey thought he was a kind enough guy.

The boy seemed surprised, “Really? You don’t have to invite me just because you pity me or anything-”

“You’re invited, give me your hand.” Mikey states in a flat tone and Dan seems surprised as he lifts his hand. Mikey grabs it softly, taking the pen that had been returned to him and scribbling an address down on Dan’s pale hands. 

“Saturday at 6, see you there.” Mikey states, before walking into his last period class of the day, his mind for once taken off therapy and put onto the stranger, Dan Keyes.

\--

However, Mikey’s mind doesn’t stray too far from the thought of therapy, as when he arrives home his mom is waiting to take him to Dr. Palmer’s office. Gerard had parked his Trans Am and trotted into the house happily, leaving Mikey staring at Donna’s scratched up, red Jeep Cherokee in silence. 

“Are you going to get in, Mikey, or do I have to drag you into my passenger seat?” Donna says after she rolls down the window and Mikey sighs, slowly walking over to the car and opening the door. He remembers that for his first session Gerard had actually had to  _ pick him up  _ and place him into Donna’s car. On top of that, Gerard had even had to come with.

Mikey  _ was _ making some progress.

It was a short drive, filled with Donna’s talking and ‘The Best of Blondie’. Dr. Palmer’s office small, a tiny little square building, that Mikey had only been in, oh, a hundred times? Probably more than that, Mikey muses, pushing his glasses up his nose as he exited Donna’s car.

Dr. Palmer’s office was the first office on the right after going through reception and it was filled with white walls and motivational posters. Mikey had to wait for a few minutes every time he arrived, Dr. Palmer coming out of her office after about five minutes of waiting room silence, before escorting him into her office and having him sit in a chair across from her large, wooden desk.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mikey, you’re looking much better than you were last time. I see you’ve gotten over your illness, then?” Her voice is chipper and it serves to calm Mikey’s nerves, at least the slightest bit.

“Yeah, a few days later.” Mikey murmurs, nodding and giving Amanda a tiny smile. She smiles back, straight teeth peeking through her lips.

“That’s good, Mikey. I’m glad.” She nods and then gets out a small, blue notebook. “You’ve been taking your Ativan every day, correct?” Mikey hates how she’s not afraid to just switch the subject, but he nods, slightly embarrassed at how he even had to  _ take  _ the medication. But he wanted to get better, so that was a step forward.

“Good.” She writes something down, then looks up at Mikey, meeting his eyes for a brief second before Mikey looks away. “So, tell me, is there anything recently going on with you?”

Mikey sighs, looking over at the open window in Dr. Palmer’s office, “Yeah. A little. Like, some...stuff.” Mikey takes in a big breath of air, but doesn’t let it out.

“Go ahead, you can say.” Amanda speaks, and Mikey lets it out.

“I’m starting to hang with my...brother, Gerard’s, friends now and...they’re...nice. Um, kind of. It’s weird to be around people that aren’t Gerard or my mom.” Mikey finds it hard to talk in full sentences, always wanting to stop himself short in frustration when he can’t get the right words out. Sometimes he could, when he had bursts of confidence, but most of the time just a few words were enough for Mikey.

Amanda nods, smiling, “That’s great, Mikey, making friends is good!”

Mikey sighs, “Well, they only like me because of my brother. If...even that.” Mikey was well aware that Ryan was Gerard’s best friend, meaning he was also well aware that Ryan didn’t...really care too much about him. Or, didn’t, at least.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Mikey, that’s just your anxiety talking.” Dr. Palmer shakes her head, “You’re such a lovely soul, Mikey, I’m sure Gerard’s friends like you.” Mikey wasn’t so sure, however, but he just nodded, a vacant expression on his face.

“Well, um, Gerard...he’s throwing a party this week...end.” Mikey says, conversationally, but even Amanda knows he’s getting to a point of conflict.

“Aaand. He told me to invite friends.” Amanda nods, going to write something down in her notebook, but Mikey starts again, stopping her. “I found some people I wanted to invite. Most of them are in my classes, but I knew a few of them in middle school.” Mikey hadn’t ever been the most social of kids, really he only talked to a few kids when he was in middle school. 

Back then, though, he wasn’t like this. He didn’t have...all the problems he did now. He had a best friend…

“Mikey? Michael? You spaced out, honey, are you alright?”

Mikey had been aware he had spaced out, but as he refocused on Amanda, he felt hotness in his cheeks and warm tears pooling around his eyes. He looks down, blinking hard in an attempt to rid them. “Yeah...m’good.” He let himself think about  _ her _ , he shouldn’t have done that.

“Were you thin-” Mikey interrupts her.

“Don’t mention _her_.” Mikey snaps, barely raising his voice, however. Dr. Palmer is silent, but then she starts up again.

“Well, you were talking about inviting kids to Gerard’s party?” Dr. Palmer tries to refresh Mikey’s memory, but Mikey can feel his walls closing off. Repressed memories were  _ exactly the reason  _ that Mikey hated therapy. 

The rest of that session had Amanda trying to pry and Mikey sitting in the plush chair of her office, picking at his nails and every so often pushing his glasses up his nose.  
  
Donna Way wasn’t happy when Mikey had gotten out of therapy that day, to say the least. But neither was Mikey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	9. Gerard: Perks of Green Tea and Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard has too much free time, but he almost prefers it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this feels like -almost- a filler. There are major plot points that are /just about/ to be revealed, this chapter is kind of teasing them. 
> 
> But the story is moving along, I promise. I apologize if this isn't what you wanted, but more than likely what you want will come in the next few chapters. 
> 
> (Also, sorry about it being kind of short).

Being home for an hour by yourself every Tuesday and Thursday  _ did  _ have its perks. Oh, did it definitely have so many perks. One of them being Gerard’s hand down his pants as he watched porn as  _ loudly _ and moaned as  _ obscenely  _ as he pleased. Perks.

Another perk, however, was that there was no one there to chastise him for being the complete and utter slob he was. When it came to painting, of course. But also when it came to making endless cups of coffee and just being able to leave them in the sink, like he was God of the house. 

As well as perks, being alone for an hour every Tuesday and Thursday had it’s downsides, too. Like talking to yourself and calling yourself a God. 

“What the fuck am I doing with my life?” Gerard wondered aloud as he placed his final cup of coffee of the day into the sink. He rinsed it, just so there wouldn’t be rings on his favorite mug, and the began his way back down into his basement bedroom. He walked down the steps lazily, not using the railing. 

He couldn’t help but think about the day he had, doing much the same as he did everyday, sitting outside underneath the bleachers with Ryan and Pete. Of course, minus Frank and the newly accustomed Mikey. His friends were a bunch of drama queens, but of course, so was he, so what room did he have to talk. 

Frank had just been acting fuckin’  _ strange _ , in Gerard’s opinion. Like, still Frank, of course, but with an edge. Like he was told when he was going to die, or, a joke that Frank would often indulge in, that his Mom was going to come back from the dead and restrict him from his ‘greaser lifestyle’. Yeah, Gerard had heard that one a couple of times.

His phone sounded from the pocket of his jeans, a Facebook notification. The sound made him remember that he hadn’t  _ actually  _ checked his social media in a full day and a half. He reaches for it, seeing a message from Pete. 

_ ‘Pete: yo dude, wanna hmu with some cigs? I got a 20 and some booze bck at my place? also gotta talk abou this weird dude i met the o...’  _ The message ran off, the screen not showing the rest.

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows, going to swipe the notification when he received another. 

_ ‘Pete: shit o fuck sorry g wrong person, meant to seend to bob !! but u wanna hangout tmmrw at the coffee grinder ?’ _

Gerard shrugs, opening the notification and typing back, ‘ _ sure why not, got the planning and stuff for saturday done … invitin ry frnk and mikes? Wb andy?’ _

Gerard presses send, exiting out of his messenger app to go to the actual Facebook app. He realized that he was just awkwardly standing in the middle of his room, mind having been preoccupied beforehand. He looks around, almost waiting for someone like Ryan or Frank to pop out and make fun of him for it. It doesn’t come, though, of course, leaving Gerard awkwardly walking over to his bed.

He had three new notifications on Facebook, two being actual notifications and one being a new friend request. 

Gerard eyes the friend request, clicking it and narrowing his eyes at ‘Gabe Saporta’. Who the fuck was Gabe and why did his name sound familiar in the slightest? And, more importantly, why the fuck did he want to be Gerard’s friend. 

Before Gerard can click the dude’s profile, Pete is replying back. 

_ ‘Pete: alrite bby ! and ya probly whtev, but andy has to work at PSNM tmmrw.’ _

Gerard decides to just leave it at that, figuring Pete was also done talking to him. He hadn’t realized that Andy  _ still  _ worked at ‘Protein Smoothies n’ More’, a small shop just a few blocks away from where Gerard lived that had such a blunt name Gerard wouldn’t be surprised if you walked in and got instantly stoned. 

Gerard shakes his head, refocusing onto ‘Gabe’ and his friend request. It takes no time at all for his profile to load and Gerard’s memory is instantly refreshed. The motherfucker with the grey Sperry’s.

His profile picture had him in it, but also another boy with long brown hair and light brown eyes. They both wore small smiles, Gabe’s arm seemingly on the boys stomach off screen and his head rested onto his shoulder. It seemed very intimate and Gerard easily guessed that this could be the Gabe guy’s boyfriend.

It did surprise him slightly, however, as he had pictured Gabe being straight. “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, I guess.” Gerard speaks softly out of the side of his mouth. 

He wonders for a second if he should accept the request, before deciding to just say fuck it and accept it. It wasn’t like his Facebook held the most intimate of details about him.

Just as he clicks to accept, two things seem to happen at once. He hears yelling and the loud slam of what he presumes is his Mother’s Jeep, being the first and foremost thing, and just as he looked down at his phone to check whatever notification he had gotten, his attention is taken once again.

“Mikey! Please, Mikey!” He hears stomping and the slam of a door and then his Mom stops yelling. He bites down on his lip, checking the time on his phone. He decides not to go up there and confront her, seeing as she needed to go back into work any minute now. Meaning she didn’t have time to argue Mikey out of the room. 

She’d be back home later that night, though, so he definitely had to talk Mikey down from whatever mood he was in. That damn therapist sometimes seemed like she didn’t even  _ help  _ Mikey, just made him worse. 

“Mikey, when I get home, if Gerard hasn’t magically made your mood better, we are going to have a talk!” Donna yells and then there’s another door slam, which was definitely his Mom leaving to go back into work. 

Gerard locks his phone, throwing it onto his bed and going up to try and talk to Mikey. His brother’s room was upstairs and was the last room on the right, the bathroom directly across the hall and a closet right next to it. It couldn’t possibly have been farther away from Gerard’s own bedroom, meaning that Gerard had to walk through the living room, kitchen, all the way up the stairs and through the hall.

“Mikey…?” Gerard spoke softly, hearing sniffles on the other side of the room. 

“Go away, I don’t wanna talk!” Mikey was very snotty, Gerard could hear it in his voice. He made a face, rolling his eyes and trying the doorknob. It was, to Gerard’s surprise, locked. 

“Come on, Mikes, you know you’re just gonna have to face Mom when she gets back if you don’t talk to me.” Gerard knew Mikey would open the door as soon as the crying went silent. The door unlocks almost violently, but Mikey opens the door softly. 

“I really don’t wanna talk about it.” Mikey says, looking at his feet and turning around to sit back on his bed. Gerard follows him into his room, kicking the door shut with his foot and sitting down on Mikey’s bed next to his younger brother.

“Was it about...her?” Gerard had no clue how to mention  _ her  _ without making Mikey tense up, much as he did when Gerard had even said the pronoun. 

“Yes, shut up!” Mikey snips, burying his face into his Star Wars pillowcase that he had gotten for his 12th birthday. “I don’t wanna...t-talk about anything! Please.” Gerard hadn’t even said anything else, but it was apparent that whatever Mikey and his therapist had talked about had sent him into some sort of panic. 

Mikey whimpers, “Not  _ her _ , especially.”

The only thing Gerard knew to do was to cover Mikey up and to promise to make him some of the green tea that he liked so well. So he did exactly that, shushing Mikey as he grabbed the matching duvet to his Star Wars pillowcase and tucked it around his brother’s shaking body. 

Gerard wasn’t great at making others feel better, mainly because he barely knew how to make  _ himself  _ feel better. He thought about this as he went to make Mikey’s green tea, tapping his foot as he waited for the water to heat up, fiddling with the tea bag. 

Once he deemed it warm enough, he poured it into Mikey’s favorite mug, nearly scalding himself as some splashed over the edge. He sighs, dipping the tea back in and out of the hot water, leaning against the counter as he waited for the contents to seep into the water.

He stood there for a minute, feeling a strange sense that he was forgetting about something, before shaking it off and beginning on his way to bring the green tea to Mikey.

Meanwhile, downstairs, unbeknownst to Gerard, his phone pinged with notifications, following up the one from earlier. 

_ ‘Frank: gee...did you get that …?’ _

_ ‘Frank: gerard i need to talk to you’ _

_ ‘Frank: ...gerard?’ _

_ ‘Frank: its about yesterday’ _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you leave a comment, I'll be sure to respond to it! (They are very much so appreciated).


	10. Josh: Lunatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh relives his conversation with Tyler and overhears something he shouldn't have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it's just me, but my writing has seemed so strange recently. Like, very off. It's been kind of subpar to me, recently. However, this chapter has turned out basically how I wanted it. Basically. Though, it is kind of short, but I'm already working on the chapter after this, so. 
> 
> Progress.

Josh had plenty of time to think to himself after the dinner they’d had the night before. Almost too much time, because he was definitely overthinking  _ everything _ and...he just didn’t know what to  _ do _ about Tyler.

_ ‘“Please don’t leave bruises.” Tyler whined, surprising Josh. He furrowed his eyebrows, taking note of Tyler’s worried expression and just how  _ small _ the boy looked. Josh bit his lip, taking a step closer to Tyler. That just seemed to make him flinch even more. _

_ “I’m n-” _

_ “No, you are, just don’t leave bruises. My Dad will see them a-and question...about them.” Tyler interrupted Josh and something flared in Josh’s stomach. _

_ This was his chance to finally be  _ noticed _. He’d finally be the center of someone’s attention, even if...for the wrong reasons. Josh narrows his eyes at Tyler, pursing his lips and crossing his arms over his chest. _

_ “Okay, get up.” Josh commands, putting on his best voice of authority and smirking. Tyler looked up at him with hesitant eyes, but Josh motioned for the boy to move again.  _

_ “O-okay, uh.” Tyler scrambles to his feet, coming up as taller than Josh, but he still seemed much smaller. Josh had been thinking about getting a lip piercing, a labret, to seem more intimidating - to get noticed. He didn’t think he really needed it now, not if his plan worked. _

_ Josh backed Tyler into the wall, smiling, “I won’t hurt you on  _ one  _ condition.” Tyler nodded quickly and Josh wondered that if he waited and listened long enough, if he could hear the boy's heartbeat. _

_ Josh continued, “You’re gonna be my friend.” Tyler seemed confused, “You’re gonna be my  _ best friend _ , got it?” Josh wondered if he even seemed intimidating, his bedroom filled with plastic stars and space junk, his hair brightly colored. Though, as Tyler shakily nodded, he confirmed to himself that he must be at least somewhat threatening.  _

_ “And if you even think about going back on this - I’ll fuck you up good, Tyler.” Josh sounded foreign to himself, but he’d seen enough people bully others to know the ‘do’s and don’t’s’ of bullying.  _

_ Tyler seemed convinced.’ _

Josh kept reliving the moment in his mind, smiling to himself. He had Tyler’s number in his phone and vice versa. He had a  _ friend,  _ for fucks sake. He was over the moon about it, but it also just felt...wrong. 

He had  _ threatened  _ the dude, but honestly - he almost didn’t care. There was something in him that  _ wanted  _ to take his frustrations out on him. Wanted to beat the kid up just because he looked so  _ easy  _ to beat up. 

As Josh sat in his room after school, brows knotted together, writing in his journal, he realized that  _ maybe  _ he needed some sort of an anger management therapist. He sounded like a fucking lunatic. 

“Joshua.” He scurried to hide his journal, pushing it underneath his pillow just in time for his Mom to enter the room. He smiles at her brightly, raising his eyebrows in an over exaggerated manner. 

“Dearie, have you seen your grades recently?” Josh could groan out loud as his Mother sat down on his bed, worried eyes cast towards him with a tight lipped smile. He sighs, shrugging his shoulders upwards. 

“I didn’t think to look, I thought I had all A’s and B’s…” That was a lie, Josh knew he had a C in Chemistry, but to his parents a C was probably worse than drugs. Mainly because they  _ knew  _ that Josh didn’t actually do much with his time. ‘The least you can do is homework,’ they’d say. 

“No...your Chemistry grade has dropped down into a  _ very low  _ C, Joshua.” Josh winces at her stern face, looking down at his bedsheets and picking at the fraying edges. “And Joshua, your Father and I don’t like that. We want you to work  _ extra hard  _ to get it back up, okay? 

Laura places a hand on Josh’s knee, patting it before nodding and standing up. Josh nods too, taking a big breath in and only releasing it when she was gone. He had a reason for having a C in Chemistry, that reason being skipping. He couldn’t stand sitting in Chemistry class and having no one to talk to, especially for labs. Sometimes he’d be lucky and the teacher would pair them up by himself, but then Josh would just get a look and the frustrating question of  _ ‘are you new here?’ _ .

Josh retrieved his journal back out from under his pillow, double checking to make sure his Mom wasn’t still somewhere around before doing so. His pink hair was fading and needed to be re-dyed, he noted as it hung into his eyes, but he didn’t have the dye and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to go pink again. Yellow sounded good, but not  _ great  _ and he missed the blue he had once had in his hair. 

“Dinner’s ready, boys!” Laura called up the stairs, smile evident in her tone. Josh huffed a big sigh, rolling his eyes and shoving his journal back under his pillow once again. He stood from his bed, socked feet touching clean carpet floor.

“Coming!” He yells, fluffing up his hair and stretching before making his way downstairs. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about Tyler, yet, but he knew that the smell of the food was making him feel like he hadn’t eaten in  _ days.  _

He walks downstairs, furrowing his eyebrows as he hears the last of a conversation his Mom and Dad were having. 

“Honey, I just don’t think he should be focusing on hair dyeing and that lip piercing that he mentioned, he looks like a rebel. Even Chris thinks so. He should be focusing on school. I think that the way he looks is the reason he doesn’t even have friends.” His Dad’s voice wasn’t even hushed, just loud and brash like it always was.

Suddenly, Josh didn’t have an appetite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated! :D Even if they're just critique, they're appreciated ten fold.


	11. Brendon and Frank: The Heat of Lies and Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon and Frank struggle with the way they're feeling inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is probably my least favorite chapter that I've ever wrote (that is Bandom). In anything. Which is saying a lot, because I've written a lot in the past 5 years. A whole lot. I'm very hesitant to even post it, but every time I try to think of another route for this chapter I find myself coming to a blank.
> 
> I think I'm experiencing a bit of a block.
> 
> But thank you, if you bear with me, and I apologize for a shoddy chapter.
> 
> As well as this, this is the first (and only, I'm hoping) chapter with a mixed POV. I'm not a big fan of that, either. Look at me, just being sad-sack central, huh? Anyway, enough of me. Thank you for reading.

“No, Mel, you don’t understand!” Brendon giggled into his phone, pearly set of white teeth tugging at his bottom lip as he rolled his eyes. He sat, feet tucked underneath him at his desk in his room, computer open to a random page of Velva Brooke’s online history textbook.

“B, I understand 100 percent!” Mel, or Melanie, replies on the other end. “You’re super gay for John Stamos.” Melanie was a friend of Brendon’s from school, a good friend. Almost better than Jon or Spencer, but she was a girl. Brendon and girls just  _ didn’t mix _ too well. Mel was the raddest girl he’d ever met, though.

“No, Mel, shh!” He shushes Melanie, giggling again and he can hear her soft laughs as well. 

“Alright, alright. So you doin’ the history paper that’s due in Farro’s class yet?” Brendon chuckled, having known Melanie would ask him the question. He turns his chair and his attention back toward his computer, sighing.

“Of course I am. He’s gonna flunk me, I know he is. I have barely a C- in his class.” Brendon minimizes the tab, holding his phone with his left hand. “How do you get A’s?”

“Mr. Farro knows not to flunk me, doesn’t want me in his class for a second year in a row, B.” Melanie muses to Brendon. 

“Lucky.” Brendon sighs and closes his laptop, standing from his chair and licking his lips. “Well, Mel, I gotta go. I gotta get started on the rest of my homework.”

“Brendon, we both know that means you’re just gonna play games on your phone for an hour,” Melanie jokes, “Me too, though, Mom from Hell is calling for me. Ttyl, B.” Brendon laughed at the joke and the slang, saying bye and ending the call before. 

He couldn’t wait for the week to be over so he could finally  _ sleep  _ again, because he was up to his neck in homework. He wanted Friday to roll around  _ soon _ , but could bare Sunday not arriving for a few more days. He absentmindedly touched the silver cross sitting in the dip of his clavicle, rolling his eyes. 

“Brendon, sweetie - oh, did I interrupt you praying, honey?” His Mom did the thing she always did and slipped into his room unannounced, startling him. He dropped his hand from his cross as if it had burnt him, his cheeks flushing.

“Uh, it’s okay,” He doesn’t tell her he wasn’t praying and more so just contemplating taking the cross off his neck, “What do you need?”

“Come set the table for dinner, it’s just you and I tonight. Your Dad is working a little late.” She sends him a sympathetic look, but he’s thankful that his Dad isn’t going to be home. Dinner’s were just awkward with his Dad  _ constantly  _ asking if he had any ‘special girl’ at school. 

It made Brendon feel sick. 

“Is Kara not going to be home tonight?” Kara was his older sister, who only intended on living with them until Brendon graduated his Junior year at Velva Brooke. Which would be in April, Brendon thanked the lord. He would finally get the bathroom to himself in the morning.

“No, she’s at her boyfriend's house for dinner.” Kara took classes at the community college, but Brendon had no clue what else she even did with her day. He guessed that this boyfriend that he’d only just heard about was most of it.

“‘Kay.” Brendon affirms, his Mom exiting his room and leaving him to his own thoughts again. He’s just getting ready to sit back down when his Mom is calling for him again. 

Oh, yeah. Table setting.

\--

Frank was a nervous wreck as he sat on his bed in his room, staring at what used to be a white wall but what was now covered in numerous posters and drawings Gerard had either given him or left at his house. His phone was clasped so tightly in his hand that it hurt and his jaw was so tight that it ached. 

Gerard hadn’t replied back yet and it was nearing an hour after he had sent the messages. 

It was very probable that his best friend was asleep, except it also just really wasn’t. Gerard had trouble  _ getting to sleep  _ and even worse troubles staying that way. He’d wake up from a Facebook message, he would.

So what was he doing?

Frank wanted to drink again, except he wasn’t going to go down that slippery road again. He wasn’t going to turn to that again, especially since his stupid fuck up today at the school. He had headed straight home, after checking himself out at the office, and had been that way since he had stormed off. He at first sat in his house, his little, empty house, and contemplated taking something so he could sleep.

He didn’t do that.

So Frank had just called Bob up, got a new pack of cigarettes and made idle chit chat for maybe half an hour. He convinced Bob he was fine and that he felt another one of his infamous cold's coming on, the ones he normally experienced around September. Then he’d smoked half the pack while just simply laying on his bed. 

He sent what he told himself was a final message, just Gerard’s name in all lower case. No punctuation, just his name. He only felt comfortable going to Gerard about this, no one else would understand, but the longer Gerard didn’t reply, the more Frank didn’t think telling  _ anybody  _ would be a good idea.

Frank was slipping back into his habits from Sophomore year and he didn’t like it. He hated it, but it was hard to stop. He felt like utter shit, he felt disgusting. Pathetic. 

Frank willed himself to stop thinking. He sat his phone on his bed with a shaky hand, rubbing his now free hand over his face. His lip ring was cold against his palm, his nose ring, too. His face, however, was warm and slightly damp from tears he hadn’t known he’d been mustering. He lays back, taking shallow breaths and staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

He could survive the night, if Gerard didn’t see his message. He could be okay.

He was also lying. Frank Iero was never okay anymore.

\--

After dinner Brendon had decided to call it an early day, deciding that his homework could be done in Study Hall tomorrow. He deserved a long, hot shower and a nice night's sleep, anyway. He’d been stressed beyond compare recently, not only with school, but with his own thoughts.

His own sins.

He stripped out of his t-shirt and jeans, leaving him in his socks and underwear as he started up his shower. His Mom was downstairs crocheting something to give to the pastor at their church on Sunday, meaning he could take his time, because normally that took her forever. No way she’d want to shower anytime soon. It just had to be ‘perfect’ for Pastor John.

He took off his socks and then his underwear, tossing them in the pile with the rest of his clothes. The water was warm and made goosebumps appear on his skin as he entered the small space, but it felt nice. 

He began to hum a tune, one of the songs he performed last year in Band, as he lathered shampoo in his hand. He missed being in Band, truthfully, but his Mom had made him drop it so he could take an AP class. It had been one of the biggest fights that they’d ever got into and it had only ended with him being grounded for taking the lord’s name in vain.

He rinsed the shampoo from his hair and move onto washing his body, but as he reached for the body wash he realized that there wasn’t any. 

“Great.” He mutters, sighing and closing his eyes. He tilts his head up towards the stream of water before moving to turn the cold down. He’s met with nearly scalding hot water as he accidentally turns it down too far, but instead of recoiling like he normally would, he finds the burn enticing. 

It almost felt good, it felt  _ invigorating _ to be met with such a searing heat. He felt like he was getting clean, but not just hygiene-wise. He felt like his sins and his overthinking were flowing down the drain, following the bubbles from the shampoo.

“Bren, you almost done in there? I’ve gotta shower, too, y’know.” His Mother’s voice startles him, like it usually does, and he finds himself standing under now just warm water, skin red from the heat of the shower, mouth parted slightly.

“Y-Yeah, mom.” He says and then he’s turning the taps off as quick as possible, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a fluffy, white towel to dry his body off with. 

He didn’t know why he was so freaked out, but something felt so sinful even just in the way he enjoyed the pain from the hot water. Maybe it was because of the already prominent sins, or maybe…  
  
Maybe it was because of the hard-on he sported.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are severely appreciated! xoxo


	12. Pete: Soaked Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete gets more cigarettes and meets up with an old friend, all while thinking about his one night stand with a stranger and trying to decide how to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Pete is pretty fun for me to write. Not gonna lie. I hope you enjoy the chapter. xx
> 
> (I wrote most of this chapter listening to Superstar by The Carpenters and various songs from frank's new album Parachutes.)

The sky was dark above Pete, his dirty, mucked up Chuck Taylor’s kicking rocks up off the pavement as he walked down the sidewalk leading him to Bob’s house. It was nearing 8 o’clock, probably, Pete didn’t know for sure, but he knew he didn’t want to be on the streets any longer than he had to. The storm clouds above were daunting and Pete  _ really  _ didn’t want to get caught in the rain.

Not with a case of beer in his hand.

He’d texted Bob, or - no, he  _ had  _ texted Gerard, but quickly realized his mistake and corrected it. So  _ then _ he had texted Bob and asked if he could come ‘round to his house, but Bob made it very obvious that it would have to be Pete coming over to his if he wanted another pack of cigarettes. He’d also made it clear that the 20 and the beer were still required. 

He reached Bob’s house just as it started sprinkling, the light rain barely hitting Pete’s skin as he knocked on the solid, wooden door. It was getting slightly colder outside, September’s weather starting to show its true colors, causing Pete’s jacket-less frame to shiver. He tapped his foot as he waited for Bob to open the door, looking behind him as a car drives by.

Bob opened the door as Pete turned back around, looking just as bored as ever. He motioned for Pete to come in, leaving the door open for him to follow. Pete was hit by the smell of weed and pizza, which meant that another of Bob’s friends must’ve been there, since Bob himself didn’t smoke weed - at least, to Pete’s knowledge.

“Someone else here, man?” Pete asks to Bob’s back as they walked down the hallway to the living room.

“Yeah, but s’just Brian.” Bob shrugs and Pete nods, Brian Schechter was a cool guy. Pete didn’t know him all that well, but anyone who was cool under Bob’s book was cool under Pete’s.

“Cool, where can I sit this?” Pete asks, tugging his bottom lip into his mouth and raising his eyebrow as Bob sat down on his couch, motioning towards the beer. Bob shrugged, again, which Bob could be famous for, then pointed to the coffee table. 

“Ya’ got the twenty, too, right? Cause I have two packs of cigarettes with your name on it, but y’know.” Bob cleared his throat, “Money first.” 

Pete reached into his pocket, pulling out a small wad of cash and finding the 20 he had gotten from making a bet with Andy the week before last. He was saving it specifically for cigarettes. He hands it over to Bob, who takes it and then nods to the coffee table. Pete snatches at the pack of Marlboro's, glad that he finally had more. He had tried to go without them and probably hadn’t had on in maybe a week, but that guy...God, he was putting more stress on Pete than Pete allowed from most people.

For some reason, his idle threats felt like anything  _ but  _ idle to Pete and Pete knew that if he spoke freely about hooking up with him it wouldn’t end pretty. This guy was hot, but like most hot people that Pete woke up next to, he was also an asshole judging by the way he talked to Pete that morning. 

“You gonna sit down Wentz? Didn’t you tell me you had something to talk about or?” Bob looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, but an uncaring gaze. Pete thought about it for a second, looking from Bob to Brian and back. 

“I did, but it’s just bullshit. I already talked to Gerard about it, anyway.” It was technically a lie, but he had mentioned it in that text gone rogue. Even then, what did Pete care about lying.

Bob had a weird look on his expression before he shook his head, bringing a hand up to wipe at his beard that Pete noticed was getting longer than Bob normally let it. 

“Ah, shit, haven’t seen Gerard around in a bit. How is he?” 

Pete huffed out a sigh, sitting down in between Bob and Brian, who looked like he had smoked just a bit too much and was vegetating with his eyes half-lidded. “He turned 18 in April which means he can get his own cigarettes, but fuckin’ refuses to get em’ for me.” Pete secretly thinks that he gets them for Ryan, though, because Ryan doesn’t talk much to Bob. 

“Oh, yeah? Sucks.” Bob says, obviously barely interested as he flipped through channels on his TV. Pete watched the channels go by, eyes unfocusing.

“Yeah. He’s doin’ the same, I think.” Pete really didn’t know, honestly, because Gerard had distanced himself from even Ryan, who was his best friend. He thought that Mikey and Gerard even seemed sort of distant, for brothers, but Mikey was new to the group, so who knew what the norm between them was. 

Not Pete.

Bob sat there for a second before turning to Pete and raising an eyebrow. “What are you still doin’ here, man? I know you got better things to do than sit here watchin’  _ That 70’s Show _ reruns with me and Brian.” Pete is taken aback by the words, but honestly he was waiting for Bob to say something so he could leave. 

With a sheepish shrug, Pete stands up, “Yeah, I dunno. Thanks for the cig’s, Bob. Uh, Brian.” Pete waves awkwardly at the unresponsive Brian and then at Bob before practically dashing for the door. It was big time raining by the time Pete got outside, almost making him turn back around to face vegetative Brian and silent Bob.

That would’ve been worse than the rain, though. 

Pete’s hair immediately starts to curl on impact of the rain, his well-hidden afro beginning to show. He sighs, rubbing at his chin before beginning to jog down the puddled sidewalk. It was cold and rainy, a mixture that Pete often related to, but hated being caught in. 

He walked on for a bit, his Chuck Taylor’s getting soaked and the socks underneath them following suit, making for a sickening squelch every time he took a step. He didn’t know shit about where he was, just hoped maybe he was close to  _ someone’s  _ house that he knew.

A car’s headlights catch Pete’s attention as they come up next to him, causing him to slow his pace as someone rolls down their window. 

“Hey, kid. You wanna get outta the rain?” The person offers and Pete swears he had heard that voice before. 

“Uh, no, shady asshole.” Pete says, squinting toward the car and trying to see past the low light and the rain. 

“Come on, Pete. Get in.” The voice says and Pete’s a little spooked before the person turns the overhead car light on and Travie McCoy’s scruffy mug comes into view. 

“Oh, shit, Travie. Thank God. Yeah, fuck yeah, I wanna get outta the rain.” Pete sighs, happy to have lucked out. Travie was an old friend, but a good friend that Pete hadn’t seen in at least three weeks. “Where the fuck you been, Trav?” 

Pete gets into the car’s backseat, noting that he didn’t know the driver but knowing Travie was enough for him. It was a girl with jet black hair and a pale complection.

“Here, there. Places. W’bout you, Wentz? I’m workin’ over with Bob at Best Frets, was gonna stop by but decided against it.” Travie says, looking back at Pete from the front and Pete huffs out a big sigh.

“Ah, man, I’ve been doin’ the same. Partyin’ n’ shit, y’know.” Pete thinks back to Dan Keyes, the center of his thoughts in recent times. 

“Ya’ down to party r’now, Wentz? Cause I got a good one on the corner of 4th and Main.” Travie chuckles, raising his eyebrows in a playful manner and Pete shows a big, horse-like smile back.  
  
“Oh, shit am I ever, Trav.” Pete confirms and he thinks that he’ll be wasted before he even knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, so much!! Comments and Kudos are appreciated so very much, so if you could drop one of those (or both? pretty please??) that's be rad. 
> 
> xx


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